


Sleepless

by Kujotaro



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Just ridiculous shenanigans between two kids in love, M/M, Slow Burn, The title makes it sound like it's a sad fic, but it's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujotaro/pseuds/Kujotaro
Summary: Barry doesn't sleep. Victor misses it. Loneliness has a way of creeping up at night.





	1. Sleeping Powder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never read a comic in my life (save for Southern Bastards, which i love intensely), nor did I try to look up canon information. I also think JL was a genuinely bad movie, but got too attached to those two characters to leave it out of my mind. I ALSO never wrote a fic in my life until this morning. Also, english isn't my main language.
> 
> No, I swear I'm not listing all the reasons why you shouldn't read this.

Diana : We are not asking you to massage them, Barry. Tire your ennemies, turn them crazy if you can't physically hurt them. It goes for you too Victor. More brain less brawn. You’re overusing your power. Save it. Battles can be long. Get some rest, boys. The session's over.

 

Barry _(to Victor)_ : Kinda afraid to ask her what she means by long, with her being a goddess and all. _(they both smile)_

 

*********************

 

Barry doesn’t need to sleep much, his cells working full time by the standards of his own body : fast healing, fast consuming, fast resting. During the wee hours of the night, he often finds himself awake. The air is quiet, save for the usual noises of the questionnable neighbourhood a young Barry once decided to settle in. It’s bigger in here. Noisier, too, but he doesn’t mind. There used to be a lot of ruckus and aggressions until he stepped in. Now, garbage can lids thrown off by meowing cats and the occasional engine of a passing motorcycle are all the neighbours find themselves complaining about. That, and a spreading rumour about ghost benefactors protecting the innocents around the district.

 

Barry usually occupies his time by learning. Sometimes he’s interested in programming languages, other times it’s guitar. He watches Korean mvs and participates to forums, answers buzzfeed quizzes and reads about police investigation procedures. One time he picked embroidery and with a little practice, became as fast as a sewing machine. That’ll come in handy, he thinks to himself, not really sure of a context in which he’d be able to save the day with his needles and yarn.

 

Barry sometimes daydreams. Thinks about his father, sometimes his mother; about his new brother in arms, how their personalities clash and bring the best of each other. He thinks about Victor, his very first friend, someone he can hang out with and watch movies… share interesting facts with… or whatever friends do together. He thinks about how he’d have a word with the big guy up there, or whomever is responsible of his condition. He’d complain and be thankful at the same time.

It never takes long before he bores and gets back to his occupation; this time it is wood carving.

 

*********************

 

Victor jolts awake, beads of sweat covering what’s left of his face. The same old ceiling stares at him in a silent judgement, as he roses up his bed. 3:30, informs his cerebral program. He’s greeted by a face he is not yet familiar with in the bathroom. The silent judgement is there again, this time coming from his own eye(s). He washes up and notices the lack of eye-bags he has, despite sleeping very little these days. Whatever his father turned him into, this machine doesn’t need sleep. It doesn’t need turning off either. The energy stems from electricity, and he had an infinite supply of it. Nothing that needed to be saved or rehearsed.

 

He missed practice. Football was a pillar back in his old life. He was smart, but math never interested him as much as a raw tackle or the right ploy to throw down a coming opponent. He thinks about the drinks he’d get after a win, the loud noises of clincking glasses and the envy in peoples eyes. He loved it, having people look at him. Now…

 

Victor tries not to think about his past much, the bruises of change still burning through his metallic skin. He struggles to move on, but the purpose Justice League gives him is enough an anchor for the time being. You are so young and you have time, his father would repeat. Time to rebuild. His room is empty now, all posters, photographs and trophies tossed and boxed in a corner of his room that only the square-shaped stains on his walls remember. He sighs and pulls up pants as he thinks about the work he has left to do, to get a semblance of life back. At least, he has partners now. People whom have his back. And he has Barry, a friend of the same age, of the same burden.

 

There’s no longer need to work out now, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling up his hood and heading out. If the physical benefits won’t show anymore, the emotional release of jogging still worked on him. As he runs a couple of strides, clouds of steam skirts around him. He can’t define which are his and which belong to the machine.

The air is quiet.

 

*********************

 

As the doors of the elevator ring open, leading the way to the Hall of Justice, loud grunts and the raspy laugh of Arthur fill up the area. Poking his head out the door, Barry sees said man and Victor in what appears to be a titanic arm wrestling match. The merman is close to loosing, his crisped face betraying his intense efforts. A bump follows, and Barry’s eyes trail to Arthurs bulging muscles, veins defined in the expanse of his skin, to both his and Victors hands down the table, to the glossy and intricate design of the robotic arm, to, finally, Victors face, a demure smile decipherable, if you squint.

 

\- “ Let’s try this underwater, Arthur barks, revengeful.  
\- I’m not sure I can go underwater, Victor replies, cool and collected as he always was, like he didn’t just win against a genuine _force of nature_. Barry’d have danced on the table over such a victory. Oh right, it reminded him of the brunch they scheduled later this week. _On him_.  
\- I’ll take it as a forfeit ! This match ends on a draw. Well played for a human GPS”

 

Arthur grabs his trident and walks out, scowling along the way, fist colliding with the metal walls of the elevator, indicating his presence in the building way after he is out of the main floor. Barry looks up, as if trying to locate his exact position. Victor does it too, a force of habit now.

 

\- “He’s… not gonna go ruin a fishing village or two because of this… Right ?

\- Who knows.”

 

Two words sentence. Short. Victor does have a way with words, in the sense that they are straight to the point and without a spill, emotional or otherwise. Barry always feels a little nervous around him. He chalks it up to his need to fill up blanks versus his partners lack of participation. One match his anxiety yearns to win each time he’s within the cyborgs vicinity.

 

He doesn’t want to think about underlying reasons. Because there’s none. Right.

 

The Hall of Justice is pretty quiet now, save for the soundless noises of computers running and Victors machine scanning, analysing, or whatever he was doing at the moment. They didn’t have any urgent missions, so the other workers - _heroes, and Barry was one now-_ were probably going about their own lives. Diana, highlighting the National History Museum by her simple presence. Superman, probably to his beloved mothers arms. He chuckles at the thought of Bruce just hanging downside like a bat, in the shadows. He could never figure out what the chief occupied his time with. Jujitsu maybe, or finding the right protection to his ribcage. How can he sustain so many broken bones and _not_ be supernatural. You have to credit the guy for his relentlessness.

Barry’s attention shifts back to Victor.

 

A map of New-York in his hands, Victor is looking up any potential danger to the city and its population. It’s what he occupies his time with now, looking around. He tried to check on his friends once. They were still mourning him, months after. He didn’t check again, afraid of his impulses. Coming back is _not_ a possibility. Not now at least. But leading the life of a pariah for what once was a charming extrovert, and knowing he’s the cause of the suffering of people he used to love - _still does_ , despite the distance- does damage to his necessity to live in the shadow now.

 

He tries not to use it as much -figured it was a violation of privacy of some sort- but his brain automatically analyses the physical stats of any living within meters. So when he detects an unusually high heartbeat rate in Barry, he doesn’t comment. It often happens these days, and the cyborg is perplexed. Is he really that intimidating ? Victor shrugs at the idea of daunting his only friend, but when thinking of ways to fix it, he is left blank. He wouldn’t list eloquent as a quality on his CV.

He senses Barry coming over.

 

Barry opens his mouth then stops, rigid, his eyes focusing on something. Victor doesn’t expect what follows.

 

\- “A cut.”

 

Eyes shifting, inquisitive.

 

\- “You… You have a cut on your sleeve… I mean… We can see your guns… And I’m talking real guns here.” Barry never knows which words to choose when a million race in his mind. Victors deep gaze doesn’t help.

 

The cyborgs eyes shift again, this time on his arm, where a small gap betrays muscles built in a forge.

 

\- “Any shirt lying around for me ?  
\- You’re probably 10 sizes above me -and I don’t mean you’re fat, tho it wouldn’t be a problem if you were, so… No.”

 

Victor breaths low and tired. He doesn’t plan on going out anyway (a sad smile barely discerned on his face. No he doesn’t, wether he wants to or not).

Barry surprises him a second time. He only hears a “wait here” then a flash of electricity as the boy vanishes, then comes back within milliseconds, needle and yarn in hand.

\- “Don’t move”, the college kid commands, an unusual straightforwardness to his voice, quick to crumble in mmhs… and errs… “only if you don’t want to be stung by the needle ! I mean, not like you’d feel anything so… hum…” he adds, then falls into a bashful silence.

 

Victor doesn’t comment until it’s all over. It took Barry seconds to sew the gap back, in a discreet way disclosing long practice.

 

\- “Didn’t peg you for a guy that sew”, Victor speaks, satisfied by the other boys work.

 

And the relaxed face of Victor makes Barry’s body feel a little warmer. Saving the day with needles and yarn : check.

 

\- “Late night hobbies… You know.”

 

Victor doesn’t know. He either runs, or travels data at light-speed. Or falls into gloomy contemplation. Not much else. Seeing his pensive frown, Barry adds :

 

\- “I… uh… Don’t sleep much… Speed resting, all that. That’s how I fill up those extra hours. Sometimes it’s that. Sometimes I watch series. Sometimes I wood carve. You know.”

 

Barry shifts his weight, uncomfortable. He wants to look cool in front of the other boy, and he doesn’t feel like nightly activities by himself is the way to impress someone. Feels a little pathetic. He thinks twice when he sees more inquisitive looks in Victors eyes.

 

Could he actually be interested ?

 

\- “I mean… It’s pretty cool ! Occupying your mind and body, instead of, you know, staring at the ceiling for hours.”

 

They share a look of understanding, both knowing each millimetre of the area above their bedhead. Victor smiles -a tired and genuine one, like a “you and me bro” one- and in a spark Barry understands Victors silent nightly struggles, the burden of a mechanical body. He has an idea.

 

\- “You want to try ?

\- Try what ?  
\- You know. Wood carving… Drawing… Watching netflix… Whatever floats your boat.  
\- You’re suggesting I do therapeutic activities.  
\- You make it sound bad but… basically, yeah…?  
\- With you?  
\- I mean I have room -like, lots of it actually- good screens, and if we’re out there awake at night, better be together… you know ? It’s not cool to be lonely… Unless you like your alone time ! I’m not discarding a lifestyle or whatever, it’s cool… like I understand, I mean…hum.

 

Barry’s tense awkwardness is visible now. He mentally screws the voice in his head that motivates him to act bold, then screams abort whenever he takes a step further. But Victor says yes. He… does. He agrees. He accepts to spend time with Barry, like friends do, and Barryprocesses the fact. If he wasn’t acquainted now with the rules of fistbumping, he’d ask for one right here and there. But he cant. Having Victor over was only a victory to him, and the butterflies in his stomach. He doesn’t let himself wonder if the cyborg appreciates spending time with him too. Doesn’t need to cling to an inexistant hope, or whatever idea that keeps germinating in his mind. Right now they are bonding and he is more than satisfied with it.

 

*********************

 

Victor grabs his Iphone and a fresh set of loose pants, throws them in a bag, then checks himself on the mirror. There’s nothing he can do, really, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure he is presentable. The meet up is in an hour. He’s not excited -why would he be?- and the images of a smiling Barry filling his head won’t convince him otherwise. He’s not excited.

 

9 pm come quickly.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any beta, so I hope it wasn't brimming with errors.  
> I'm not actually a writer and decided to pick writing a fic as a way to occupy myself (it turns out to be really fun !) So I'm not sure of the future of this project ...  
> If you have any feedbacks or critics, I'd love to hear them (and improve!!)
> 
> Sleeping Powder doesn't mean anything, I'm just obssessed with the Gorillaz song lol  
> Thank you for reading !  
> 


	2. Carve it out-the feeling, the envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Victor bond over chisels and inadequacy, ruining Bruce's day in the process.

Barry : Victor ?

 

Victor : Mm?

 

Barry : Do you ever use your robot eye to... Y’know. _(he tilts his head)_

 

Victor : To... ?

 

Barry : To... Observe people... Beyond the cloth layer. You know. _(He tilts his head_ _more insistently)_

 

Victor : Mmh… _(he raises his head up in a defiant smile, his metallic eye lighting up)_

 

Barry : _(His cheeks flush, suddenly covering his chest and crotch area)_ HEY ! 

_(Victor laughs)_

 

*********************

 

Victor walks in the storage and feels a slight chill. (In fact, the machine analyses the temperature of the room, sends the information to his brain, which he then interprets as cold. His body reacts on his own and he thinks it’s reassuring to know he still has human automatisms.) 

 

\- “Kinda cold in here.

\- Yeah ? I don’t really notice. My own body heat is pretty high.”

 

Barry is standing in the middle of the room, a half smile on his face that looks slightly panicked, wearing casual black skinny jeans and a white shirt. Minimalist and elegant, but the way he keeps tugging on his sleeves in a twitch of anxiety gives Victor the impression that he's years younger than he looks.

 

\- “You wanna turn the heater on ? I can if you want. I think it’s right… here ? I’ve never bothered with the temperature, nobody ever complained… Well, not like anybody ever came here before you- Oh wait ! Never mind. My first guest was Bruce-Should I call him Mr. Bruce ? Or Mr. Bat?- but then… the landlord came here once or twice asking me about some ghost stories -weird right?- and the rent, and…”

 

As Barry fires a succession of quick sentences, Victor eyes the storage that serves as a roof to his friend. Room he has, that was no lie. The walls were pretty high too, all covered with posters. Victor smiles as he recognises a few favourites of his; Goodfellas over here, Oldboy and Predator over there. He is stopped in his sighting by bunch of korean models laying seductively; their traits are slender and soft, and Victor’s chest warms slightly (or at least he feels like it does) at the sight of groups of boys posing dramatically. “Vic… vic…” he tells himself, “Maybe he just likes that group”. Maybe. 

 

When he is done observing the walls -the flash had it all, really, from music to cinema, to sports and art related posters, a collection disclosing a variety of interests-, Victor moves on to Barry’s furnitures, the central piece being his red costume, glorified by the stand it is exhibited on. It's actually kind of silly, for somebody looking to protect his identity, to have it displayed so carelessly. Onlookers might think he’s the real deal... Or a weirdo. An impressive work, however, for an outfit designed by a kid on his own and destined to contain a supernatural power.

His eyes trail to a desk, covered in sketches -costume designs ? and… some dicks graffitis- and notes; “DND IDEAS” underlined in red. Multiple computer screens are strewn over, each showcasing a different video; a vine compilation, a rap music clip, some guy playing video games and… Cartoons ? (They are called anime, his electric brain notes. Anime, uh.)

 

In the corner he sees a fridge -filled to the brim with instant ramen packs-, and a small kitchen installation. Nothing fancy. In the sink, dishes are soaking; one cup, one plate, one fork. Across from it, a door. Through his x-ray vision, the cyborg denotes a small shower and toilets. Above the sink, a bunch of creams, pain killers and psychostimulants are messily kept in a cabinet. One toothbrush lays on the counter.

 

A large couch centers the room, one that looks really comfy. Victor sees no bed and assumes that’s where Barry sleeps. It would explain the sheets thrown over and the cushions on the floor. Facing it, a large TV on a stand; 4 different consoles all tangled up in a mess of chords and cables. Games are scattered on the floor, and Victor is hit with the recollection of time gone by when parties would end on wasted 7AM Smash Bros sessions; back then, he was pretty good at handling a controller. 

 

\- "... and once, the postman’s wife came, asking about his whereabouts. Like I knew where he was ! And... And thats about it. You’re hum... My first friend over.

\- Cool.”

 

*********************

 

_“He’s here… Oh god he is. Do I look okay ? Should I smile ? Did he notice my clothes ? Maybe they are too much. Wait they are too much ! Why’d you go for a white shirt Barry !? This is a sleepover ! Mmh ? The heater ? Where’s the button to turn it on ? Oh god I’m talking about how little I get visitors now. That sure is going to impress him. Good job Barry. He’s starring way too intensely at that EXO poster. Does he like the group ? I hope I didn’t leave any embarrassing videos playing onscreen. Wonder if Victor knows about Vine. Oh god I forgot about my Madoka rewatch. The kitchen… I should’ve cooked something… Should I have ? Tone it down Barry, this isn’t a date. Oh shout I didn’t tidy the bed -I mean, the couch -couchbed?-. He’s smiling now. Looking at video games. Okay we have to play together. But I only have one controller ! I think I’m done talking now. What should we do !?”_

 

*********************

 

Barry’s nerves are about to burst; the seams of his shirt too. He’s pretty sure his heartbeat is so high, Victor’s data analyzer is going to burst as well. They are both standing silently now, Victor’s face impervious, and Barry _has_ to say something, or he’ll probably drop dead, but nothing comes. (Actually, a million suggestions, questions and corny jokes are constantly racing through his mind. They’re too fast for him to pick out.)

Fortunately, the cyborg opens up first.

 

-“ I brought you some protein bars.

\- Oh ! Thanks. Good for my blood sugar.”

 

The brand shines on the plastic as Victor extends his hand; Bumble Bar. Barry wonders how he knows it’s his favourite.

They fall back into silence, again.

 

\- “ You said something about wood carving.

\- RIGHT ! Right. Right. Wood carving. It’s cool. It’s like wood… you carve. That’s not what I wanted to say. Err just follow me.”

 

Barry’s head hangs low as he walks past a bunch of car toys and circuits to a large ceiling-high bookcase, wondering how many time he can humiliate himself until he turns into a puddle of flesh, and sinks in-between the floor boards. He closes the gap to a table covered in wood chips and plates, some gouges laying along a small wood log. A pile of books on wood working is sitting in the corner.

 

-“That’s where the magic happens.” He says, slightly out of breath. 

 

Victor approaches the table and sees some small wooden figures, crudely chiseled. He picks one up.

 

-“That’s Superman, Barry declares

\- Uh ?

\- I’m trying to make a superhero set. That’s Superman. This one’s Wonderwoman. I’m working on Spiderman too.”

 

Victor looks at him, startled, then chuckles.

-“W-what’s so funny ? The flash shouts, red with embarrassment

\- Nothing ! Ahahah… I think its cute.”

 

The room charges with a thunderstorm of electric beams, and Barry’s pretty sure it could fuel the entire city for a night. All of it set off by that one word Victor voiced so casually. He quickly grabs a chair and silently gestures to his friend to grab the other -lesser- one. 

 

-“It’s not very complicated. You have to c-carve slowly with r-repeated….”

The flash goes silent. In an attempt to better see his manipulation, the cyborg came close _-too close-_ and Barry can smell the metallic fabric of his new body, mixed with cologne. He clears his throat and resumes.

-“Repeated moves. Like… this. The goal is not to use your power.”

 

He hands Victor a gouge and a wooden board, then looks the other way, releasing a breath he didn’t realise he kept in.

 

-“Barry… he hears. Victor’s tone is soft and it rings in his ears.

\- Mmh ? He replies, his eyes closed, trying to focus on calming his nerves down.

\- Can I ask you a question, and can you promise me to be honest ?”

 

Barry turns his head, inquisitive.

 

-“Y-yeah ? Sure.

\- Are you intimidated by me ?”

 

Barry is incredulous. Of all the things he thought _-wished-_ would happen tonight, the millions scenarios his mind conjured up, from the worst possible turns of events to the most eccentric ones, he certainly didn’t plan for this question to arise. 

 

-“ What ?

\- You’ve been showing signs of anxiety ever since I’ve been there. You’re usually anxious, especially in battle, but I can tell from your statistics something is happening specifically when I’m here. So I was wonder-

\- Wait wait wait you think… You think… I’m- Oh… Oh no no no… that’s not it at all. I’m not. I mean technically I am but… 

\- Am I making you anxious ?

\- You- Yeah you are but it’s not your fault. It’s mine. Okay. You’ve done nothing wrong. This isn’t about intimidation.

\- It’s not ? But your heartb-

\- It’s not. This is like a Speed Force thing. You know fast resting fast beating. You’re alright, Victor.”

 

Barry shifts his weight, uncomfortable, looking everywhere but his friend and Victor doesn’t want to push it. He knows Barry is lying, but can’t figure out why. He looks down on the wooden plate in front of him.

Resting his head in his arms, Barry evaluates the situation; pretty chaotic. He doesn’t know how to make it better; how to reassure Victor, tell him that it’s the opposite of intimidation, actually, that he’s feeling toward him, and anger swells up in his guts. He is wasting an opportunity for friendship because he can’t contain _this…_ whatever that is going on in his heart. Because he can’t understand social cues. 

 

No wonder he can’t get any friends.

 

The sharp metallic sound of a circular saw chipping wood buzzes through and replaces the silence in the room, followed by the voice of Victor calling his name. Barry is greeted by the angry face of Batman carved on wood as he turns around. Victor is holding the plate to his head level, and is mimicking -very badly- Bruce’s stern voice. 

 

-“Hey Barry !Let’s bring Superman alive so he can kick our asses. I’m definitely not a masochist.”

Barry sputters, then laughs, wide and honest, his head thrown back.

 

-"You're not supposed to use your power ! he yelps, as he wipes tears off his eyes, It won't be relaxing otherwise."

They exchange smiles, sitting still in a quiet moment they both wished would last longer.

 

-"Bet I can carve a better Bruce than you, Barry says after a while. 

His stats are lower now, and the machine informs Victor that his friend is more relaxed. He smiles wide and defiantly replies :

\- You're on."

 

They keep at it all night, carving sculptures each more ridiculous than the other, all the while laughing about their newest colleagues’ quirks; bonding over the way they sometimes feel unfit to protect alongside _real_ heroes. They laugh about Barry’s tendency to trip over his own feet, about the impact of his punches akin to those of a duckling. Barry listens quietly when Victor talks about having trouble acclimating to his new and enhanced flesh and bones.

 

By the time the sun throbs the light of a new day, they are covered in chips, Barry’s anxiety nowhere in sight. After a shower, he sets up the convertible sofa-bed; they slip into it, each facing their own side. A small "g'night" whispered within the sheets and the flash is gone, leaving Victor to his own thoughts. One especially keeps trudging in his head, one he can’t voice, can’t believe, but can’t shake off his mind either.

 

There’s no way it could be attraction. There’s nothing to be attracted to, but metal junk.

 

Chalking up Barry nervous state to the stress having a new person over induces -especially to someone like his friend-, Victor closes his eyes.

 

*********************

 

-" What. Is this."

Bruce’s voice is rigid and irritable -more than usual- as he faces a wooden bust resembling a little too much to a cartoony version of himself, brow furrowed dramatically. In the corner, Barry and Victor barely can contain their snickers.

 

-" Hey Bat, looking good today, Aquaman cheers enthusiastically to the wooden bust as he walks in, then turns to Bruce. Who put this cardboard of the Batman in the middle of the room ? ”

 

Arthurs’ finger almost nudges Bruce’s nose before it is caught in a swift movement within the masked man’s fist.

 

-" Cut it, Arthur, and take it out, he grits between his teeth.

\- I'd love to have the artistic touch, Wayne, but this isn't my work."

 

Barry and Victor are laughing out loud now, filling the room with their guffaw; They don’t hear Bruce’s complaints (“When did we welcome kindergartener to the team ?”) and during practice, he makes them work out twice as usual, in a fit of revenge.

 

-"Worth it", Barry gasps in-between two push ups.

 

The bust is still looking at them indignantly when they leave the hideout; it hangs on the highest shelf now, next to the Steppenwolf mask and other trophies the League was awarded with for their brave work of protection. Despite Bruce’s protests, Diana insists on keeping it there, promising swift justice to whomever dares touching it. She doesn’t specify the kind of punishment she has in store but it is enough to send a chill down the team’s spine. They decide to welcome it as a new team member, to Bruce’s demise.

 

When they are outdoor, Barry looks down on his watch and swears; something about being late for his part time job. He waves at his friend and fades out, and only when he is long gone does Victor put his hand down.

That night, the cyborg is met with the same old ceiling; this time it looks a little brighter, softer around the edges. He feels waves of excitement in his stomach. (In fact, his brain bubbles up with thoughts about Barry, and the information is sent to his abdomen; the area proceeds to heat up. Wether the feeling is operated by his new self, or the remanent of his humanity, he doesn’t care. Tonight he’s alright.)

 

*********************

 

-“ Barry ! Goddamnit where is this bloody kid ! Suzanne ! Is he with you ?”

The receptor, meddled with interferences and radio noises, spits out a high-pitched voice, barely legible.

-“ Down aisle three boss. Kid dropped an entire shelf of juice.”

 

A mop in hand, Barry is uncharacteristically slowly cleaning up a multicoloured mix of liquids, not really focused on the task at hand; his mind is absorbed by the events of the other night. He is jolted awake from his blissful reminiscence by the heavy footsteps of a resented figure, accompanied by a stream of injuries, definitely directed at him. Barry dives onto the mess, light-speed fast.

 

\- “ What the hell are you going on about boy !, the exec shouts at a jittery Barry, mop held against him as a safeguard. I have fifteen customers waiting to be checked out ! Move ! Now !

\- S-s-sorry Boss !! W-will do boss !!

\- And keep your intercom turned on for Christ’s sake !” 

 

He’s heading to the cash desks now, face flushed and juice soaking up his pants. Really, he has to get Victor out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is appreciated.  
> Shout-out to Ivette for the beta (and for flexing me)  
> Thank you for reading !


End file.
